Wethering the Storm

Chapter TEN

I’m sitting by the pool on a lounger, lost in my painful thoughts, when I hear Jake’s voice. “I thought you’d be getting ready for dinner.”
Instantly tensing, I turn to see him with his shoulder leant against the wall, watching me.
He looks so beautiful. Achingly so. It makes my chest tighten and hurt so badly I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’ll never be able to breathe right again.
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I murmur.
“Staring out at LA?” He smiles, with a forward tilt of his head.
“Something like that.” I get to my feet.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, eyeing me as I approach.
No, I’m pregnant with our baby, Jake.
“I’m fine,” I hear myself uttering.
“You don’t look fine.” His eyes search mine. “You look…have you been crying?” he asks, straightening up. “Has something happened?”
Yes. I’m pregnant.
“No, I’m fine. I just saw one of those starving-children-in-Africa commercials, and it had me in tears by the end,” I say.
His head turns toward the blank screen of the television.
“You should donate to those charities,” I say, trying to distract his quickly working mind.
“Already do.”
How do I not already know this? Sometimes, I feel like I know everything and absolutely nothing about Jake.
His eyes meet mine. He looks nervous. Shy. I love shy Jake.
“You really are wonderful, you know.” I stroke my fingertips gently down his cheek. “You should let everyone see this amazing, caring side of you.”
“Baby, this side of me is reserved for you only.”
Overcome with love and fear, it’s quick to consume me. I can feel it spreading across my face, I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight, pressing my face into his chest.
Jake holds me equally as possessively, resting his cheek against my hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, afraid to talk for fear of breaking down.
“I hate to know you’ve been crying here alone. I hate to think of you crying, period. No more sad commercials for you, okay?”
I swallow past the pain engulfing me. “No.” I shake my head gently.
“I spoke with Smith today,” he says, caressing my back with his fingers.
“And?” I lean back, looking into his face.
Holding my gaze, I see something shift in his eyes, and then he smiles and says, “He’s in.”
I know he’s happy. But he’s conflicted too. Feeling guilty because of Jonny.
I want to soothe his guilt in this moment, but I’m afraid if I stay in his arms for a moment longer that I’ll crack. And right now, just before we have plans for dinner, is definitely not the right time to tell him. We need time to talk this through, not a quick, By the way, Jake, I’m pregnant. Let’s go to dinner.
Later. I’ll tell him later.
I release myself from his hold. “Guess I better go get ready for dinner.”
As I’m about to leave, he catches my hand. “Tru, you would tell me if there was anything else bothering you, right?”
“Of course,” I say, swallowing past the lie.
I squeeze his hand, forcing a smile, then I walk into the living room, but I can feel Jake’s eyes on me the whole time.


“What’re you having, baby?” Jake asks.
Baby.
I’m pregnant.
Oh God.
My worry and fear have grown exponentially as the night has progressed. Being alone earlier, knowing what I know, was hard enough. But being around Jake, holding the truth in, is killing me. I feel like I’m lying to him every second I don’t tell him I’m pregnant.
I fear I’ll just blurt the words out any moment now. Focus is the key.
I will tell Jake, I just need to find the right moment, and right now is not it.
I glance up to see the waiter standing at our table. “Oh, um, I’ll have the mushroom ravioli, please.”
“Would you like wine with dinner?” the waiter asks Jake.
“Which wine, sweetheart?” Jake asks.
Crap. I can’t drink. Not now that I’m having a baby.
But I always have a drink with dinner when we eat out. He’ll know something is off if I say no.
But then I think you are allowed a glass of wine every now and then when you’re pregnant, aren’t you?
Afraid to say no, for tipping him off, I say, “Smith should choose. We are celebrating his acceptance into the band, after all. I’m really glad you’re an official part of TMS now.”
“Me too.” Smith smiles. “As for the wine, anything with a high alcohol content works for me,” he says to Jake.
“We’ll have a bottle of the Montrachet,” Jake orders.
“Good choice.” The waiter takes the menus from our table and departs.
“I love your dress,” Carly says to me over the table.
“Thank you.” I’m wearing the Pucci print jersey dress I treated myself to on one of my shopping trips with Stuart. He picked it out for me. He has amazing taste. And I might as well get some wear out of it while I still have time.
I’m pregnant. And I have to tell Jake.
F*ck.
“I love your dress too.” I force a smile.
I actually do like her dress, I’m just forcing all my smiles tonight.
Carly is wearing the Marc Jacobs Night Bird dress. I was eyeing it last week. It’s gorgeous. But Stuart talked me out of it. He said my boobs would have looked more stacked than the New York skyline.
Looking at it on Carly, I know he was right. She’s a little lighter than me in the chest department, and it suits her just right.
Oh God, don’t a woman’s boobs get bigger in pregnancy? Christ, they’re big enough as it is.
I look over at Carly, with her lovely blonde hair, golden skin, and slim figure and remember how I always used to want to look like that growing up. I used to hate being the foreign-looking girl in a sea of blonde hair and blue eyes. Now I’m comfortable with myself mainly because of Jake. Because of how he looks at me. The way he adores me with his eyes.
But not for much longer, because I’m going to get fat and bloated, and Jake won’t want me anymore.
I’m going to lose him. He’s going to leave me for some thin, blonde goddess who doesn’t want to tie him down with kids.
Panic grips a strong hold of me.
“So you’re a writer, Tru?” Carly asks.
“The best.” Jake smiles, putting his arm around the back of my chair, fingers resting lightly on my shoulder.
I freeze under his touch. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.
Composing myself, I say, “I wouldn’t go that far, but yes, I write for a magazine. And I’m currently writing a book.”
“That’s right, you’re writing the band’s bio from the tour. That must be kind of cool, writing about the guy you’re living with. I guess you just need to remember to leave out the bad habits, like leaving the toilet seat up or wet towels on the bed.” She raises an eyebrow in Smith’s direction.
“I try to remember.” Smith raises his hands in defence. “I just slip up every now and then.”
“Every damn day is more like it,” she says, laughing. “Six years married, reminding him more times than I care to mention, and the man still can’t remember to hang his bath towel up! I’m sure he just does it to drive me crazy.”
“You know me, darlin’, I live to drive you crazy.” Smith puts his arm around her neck. He pulls her to him and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Giggling, Carly chastises him with a hand to the chest for ruffling her hair.
Their love for each other is so obvious, it’s infectious. I hope Jake and I are still that much in love six years into our marriage.
The thought escapes me, paining me, because I know when I tell Jake I’m pregnant, we probably won’t even have six more minutes together.
Especially when I tell him I’m keeping the baby.
“I’m just using all my notes from the tour,” I say, answering her question. “So Jake’s bad habits, like never cleaning out his stinky ashtray that he leaves out on the patio, are sure to be left out.” I slide him a look.
“You just clean them so much better than I ever could, baby,” he says, giving me a doe-eyed look.
It hits me right in the chest with a sharp twist, leaving me feeling breathless.
“Yeah, that works.” I give him a mock-stern look, forcing my fa?ade back up.
Jake gives me one of his sexy smiles, the ones that let him get away with anything, as he leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. My skin burns long after his lips have left me.
“What do you do for a living, Carly?” I ask, putting my focus on her.
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Best damn interior designer California has,” Smith says, proud.
“Do you have your own company?” I ask.
“I do.” She smiles. “It’s small, but I do okay.”
“We’ve just recently moved into a new house, and I could really use some help decorating it. If you’re not too busy, I’d love to hire you to help me. I haven’t got a clue where to start. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” I ask Jake.
Why am I making plans to decorate?
I suppose the baby will need a nursery…
What the hell am I doing, getting all moony-eyed over this when I don’t even know if Jake wants this baby? He won’t, I know he won’t. I remember the look on his face when the subject came up on the island.
“Of course. I think it’s a great idea,” Jake answers, bringing me back to the present.
“Then I would love to.” Carly beams. “How about I come round to your house on Monday, and we can start from there?”
“Sounds great, I can’t wait.” If I’m still living there, that is. I force another smile.
“So you guys have been married six years,” I say, needing the subject change.
“Yep, and together for ten,” Carly answers. “We are the stereotypical high school sweethearts.”
“Maybe ‘stereotypical’ is pushing it a little far, darlin’. I was the lame grungy emo kid, and she was the hot cheerleader,” Smith explains. “It took me five years to get her to notice me; then, once I had her attention, I lured her in with my wit and charm, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“It was the persistence,” she says, laughing. “I figured a guy who had kept at it for that long must have some serious stamina.”
“So it was my persistence and stamina, not my hot body and charm?” Smith says, feigning shock.
“No, those are what got me to marry you.” She grins at him.
As I watch them interact, it warms my unsteady heart, and I feel Jake take hold of my hand under the table. When I look at him, smiling, he smiles back, but there’s something off about it.
Or maybe that’s just my own paranoia setting in.
“Have you guys set a date for the wedding?” Carly asks.
“July twenty-first,” Jake answers, beating me to it.
“How’s the planning going?” she directs her question to me.
“Slow,” I say with a grimace. “I just haven’t got a clue how to get started. So far, I have some wedding magazines, some dresses highlighted as maybes, and a drafted guest list.”
“Well, I’ve planned a wedding before, so if you need a hand at all, you let me know.”
“I might have to take you up on that offer.” I smile.
“Just call me interior designer and wedding planner extraordinaire,” she jokes with a flourish.
I laugh.
It’s easy to laugh when, for that moment, I’ve forgotten I’m pregnant. Then I remember I have our baby growing inside of me, and my mood drops like a rock in water.
The waiter comes over with the bottle of wine, and it’s at that moment Jake brushes my hair back revealing the nape of my neck. Leaning over, he whispers into my ear, “You look so sexy. If I could, I’d take you on this table right now. Dining table, later, at home?” He moves back, staring at me. His eyes are dark and fixed.
I nod mutely, forcing another smile.
He presses a soft kiss to my lips and moves back in his seat, then starts talking to Smith.
He wants to make love tonight.
Of course he does. We have sex every night. And morning.
But I can’t. Not with this on my mind.
I’m going to have to tell him before we get home.
F*ck.


We’ve said our good-byes to Carly and Smith and have just gotten in the car when I blurt out, “We need to talk. And it’s not something we can talk about at home.”
Pausing before he starts the car, he turns his head to look at me, his face full of myriad questions. “Why not?”
I know how important it is to Jake that our home remains untarnished by fights. And I feel this conversation isn’t going to be a happy one.
“Just because,” I reply. “Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?”
“Just because?” He frowns. “You think that’s a f*ckin’ answer, Tru?”
“I don’t want to talk about this in the car, Jake.” I wrap my arms protectively around myself.
“But you don’t want to talk about it at home. So I’d say here is as good a place as any.” He turns his body toward me, bending his knee to rest on the seat.
Shaking my head, I stare out the passenger window. I can feel the fear trembling through my body, the words clotting in my throat.
“Is this what was up with you earlier? Why you were crying? What I’ve felt simmering under the surface all night?”
I feel my eyes swell with tears.
“Will you f*ckin’ answer me?” he demands. His tone is so sharp, it turns me to face him.
“Are you leaving me?” He looks in pure pain. It’s like a blow across my face.
“No,” I say in a rush. “Why would you think that?”
“Because of the look on your face right now, Tru. You look like you’re grieving. Like you’ve lost something big. Everyone you love is safe and well, so the only thing you could be mourning right now is the death of our relationship.”
“No, Jake, no.” I shake my head. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away. “I would never leave you. Never. But…you might leave me when I tell you what I have to tell you.” I clasp my hands in my lap.
I see a mix of anger and pain flash across his face, tightening his beautiful features.
After a beat, he says, “Have you—” He pauses. Turning from me, he grips the steering wheel, looking out the windshield. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so heartbreakingly low. “What you have to tell me…if it’ll break what we have right here, this love between us, then don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I want you, Tru, and anything that could for one second make me feel like I don’t…then…just don’t tell me.”
My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. I know what he’s thinking. I hate that he thinks that.
“I’m pregnant.” The words fall from my lips. For a moment it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the car. My world pauses. I wait. Wait for him to say something. Anything.
But he doesn’t.
And when he starts the engine, putting the car into drive, and pulls out onto the street, I feel my world slip from my grasp, bottoming me out hollow.
A tear escapes. A whole lot more want to follow, but I hold them back. Brushing the stray one away discreetly, I stare out the window.


It’s a long fifteen-minute drive back home. In all that time, Jake says nothing and neither do I.
I feel a distance settling between us, widening with each passing minute, to the point where there may as well still be twelve years and an ocean between us.
Jake pulls up on the drive. I get out and slam the door.
I fumble to get my keys out of my clutch as I approach the front door. I wrap my fingers around them, shove them in the lock, and let myself in.
I slam this door too. I’m angry and hurt that he’s said nothing. I want him to know.
I take a step forward, and that’s when I hear his car reversing out.
Moving quickly, I yank the door open and catch sight of the taillights speeding back down the driveway.
Pain tears through me, so fierce that my legs buckle. I fall back against the wall, clutching my chest. I feel wide open. Broken. Devastated.
He’s left.
Hot tears sting my eyes like pokers.
Don’t cry, Tru. Keep it together.
I press my palms to my eyes, forcing the tears back.
He’s supposed to love me. So much so that when he thought I had cheated on him he didn’t want to know.
But I tell him I’m pregnant and he hotfoots it out of here like his ass is on fire, without so much as a word.
Bastard. Motherf*cking bastard.
Then I get angry. Really f*cking angry.
Fine, he doesn’t want this baby. Then I don’t want his sorry ass.
I march to our bedroom. I grab one of Jake’s holdalls and some jeans, T-shirts, pyjamas, and underwear. I stuff them in the bag.
I get my passport from the safe in our walk-in wardrobe. I get my phone from my clutch.
I need a cab.
I do a quick web search for local cab companies on my phone and call the first one that comes up.
They tell me it’ll be fifteen minutes for the cab.
I go to the foyer, take the handset off the wall, and dial through to the main gate to let them know I have a cab coming.
Ready to leave, I stand a moment, holdall at my feet, handbag on my shoulder.
I’m not really sure what I’m doing right now.
Twisting my engagement ring on my finger, I pause. I lift my hand to look at it.

“Trudy Bennett, I love you beyond any lyrics I could ever write or any words I could ever say. I always have, and I always will. Marry me?”
A tear slides down my cheek, and I pull my engagement ring off.
Taking a slow walk back to our bedroom, I place the ring on Jake’s pillow.
Then I head straight to the foyer, pick up the holdall, swing it over my shoulder, and let myself out into the warm California night.
I lock the front door, and keeping the keys in my hand, start the walk down the long driveway.
Jackson, one of the night security guards, jumps out of the booth when he sees me.
“Ms. Bennett, is everything okay?” I see his eyes go to the holdall on my shoulder.
“Could you give these to Jake when he gets back, please?” I hold out the keys.
His eyes flicker to them, then back to my face. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep hold of them?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t be needing them anymore.”
Reluctantly, he takes them from me.
I start to walk toward the gates, when he says, “If you need driven somewhere, Parker can take you wherever you want to go.” He thumbs back to Parker, the other security guard, who is standing by the door, watching our interaction.
“No, it’s okay. Thanks. I’ve got a cab coming.” It’s at that moment the cab rolls up.
“Bye, Jackson. Bye, Parker.” I give a small wave.
Jackson gives me a sad smile as Parker opens the gates, letting me out.
Without a backward glance, I climb into the cab, settling my bags beside me.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“LAX, please.”